Pineapple Cakes and Their Fake Psychics
by Group Hugs For Everyone
Summary: Murder, cases solved, psychic, fake, fraud, felony, law, cops. He was a cop. Right now he should be arresting Spencer, so why wasn't he?/ Twoshot, slight bit of slash. Angsting ever so slightly, ain't it loverly? Second Chapter Up!
1. Of Reassurance and Kissing

_A/N: First Psych! Woo! Also, my stories are not Beta'd. I probably will be looking for one soon, though. Any suggestions?_

* * *

_Disclaimer: If I owned Psych, I wouldn't be wasting my time writing fanfiction, would I? No, I'd be figuring out how to discreetly point in the directions of both Shassie and Shules(Because everyone loves the 'opposites attract' and 'sweetheart with the joker' relationships.)._

This is what Carlton Lassiter wanted, wasn't it? He wanted that meddling, annoying, insane, bratty Shawn Spencer to admit it. Everything. Something. Nothing? No, no it was definitely something. He wanted him to admit to the fraud, the game he played with the entire precinct. He wanted Spencer to explain how he did it, no one could say they were a psychic and solve that many cases without once being wrong. What Spencer was doing was a felony. A fraud. It was against the law and a bend or break of the law was just as bad, in Lassiter's opinion, as murder. Murder, cases solved, psychic, fake, fraud, felony, law, cops. He was a cop. Right now he should be arresting Spencer, so why wasn't he?

Maybe it was the fact Shawn was on his front steps, crying, with one of Lassiter's guns in his hands. Maybe it was that all Shawn could say was 'you were right, I'm a fraud' and 'sorry, so sorry'. Maybe it was because suddenly Lassiter was considering Spencer as not Spencer, but Shawn. Maybe he really needed coffee. Yes, coffee sounded good. Yet he couldn't enter his home, Shawn was sitting there blubbering like the idiot Lassiter always thought he was. Oh, did he mention Shawn was holding a gun?

"Lassie, you were right," Shawn looked up slowly, blinking harshly at the tears invading his eyes. "I should never have called in the right guy that day, I shouldn't have said I was a psychic, and I should never, ever had gotten into that case."

Lassiter sighed, resigning himself to sit beside Shawn and try to pry away the gun, which Shawn had in a death grip. "What case? Chief hasn't given you one."

Shawn sniffed, pulling the gun away and tucking it into his waistband. "One I found in your apartment, locked in the safe. Copy of it, actually. See, it was five years old and all, and everything about it said you knew something was wrong. Very wrong, got the wrong person. The murder site being off, weapon never found, and yet they arrested and convicted the daughter."

"You were in my—what?"

Shawn sent him a look, "Yes, I was in your apartment. How do you think I got your gun? Hm?" Shawn gestured towards the bulge, sighing. "I thought the Despereoux case was it, you know? The one you were obsessed over, all cops are obsessed over at least one case, which, by the way, they totally cliché in the movies."

"Cut to the chase, Spencer." Lassiter growled, watching suspiciously when Shawn just nodded. _Something happened,_ he realized. _Something happened and now he's not acting like an idiot. ...Much..._

"You were right, in your notes. Something was really off. Only, for once, even I couldn't find it out. It was the perfect crime, I mean, Dad always said there was no such thing, but this was...It just was. The kid was guilty, or so it seemed, but she wasn't." Shawn twitched, slumping his shoulders and bringing his knees closer to his chest in a mock of a fetal position. "And I wanted so much to solve it for you, Gus said I shouldn't. Said that it wouldn't help anything, but I had to try. Just for tryings sake, you know? I-it was easy, or so I thought. A little slight detective work behind you back, slowly leading you to the real murderer. Solving a cold case, only you'd get the credit."

"Why would you do that?" Lassiter glanced at him sideways as he stretched his legs out in front of him, leaning back on his hands casually. It was somewhat relaxing, sitting out in the warm night on the doorstep of the apartment building, watching the stars and talking with a hysterical Shawn Spencer. Er, that was, uh, you know, if talking to Shawn could be relaxing...ish.

"Because I couldn't take it," Shawn snapped, turning his head away so Lassiter couldn't see his expression. "Sure, I can take it when someone doesn't like or tolerates me. See, everyone does one of those. I grew up in it, so it's kind of easy to ignore, easy to say they were just hiding affection and jealousy. Easy to pretend that if," he took a deep breath, "if something happened to me they would be the first ones there. Comforting and all. But hate? I can't—what I mean is, I don't know how to deal with that. Hate. Pure hatred for me, it's something I thought I could ignore, but I can't. So I tried what I could, within the boundaries of being 'Shawn Spencer'. Being Shawn Spencer, harder than it looks. You gotta make sure nobody likes you yet ignore it at the same time.

"But then you meet someone who hates you and everything just stops, because hate is something terrible and new and plain insane. You want to escape it, but you can't if you do it within how you're supposed to act. Witty, charming, joking, casual, idiotic. So I—well, I did the only thing that I could think of. I had to do something for you on the sly, 'cause the jokes and the pranks and the hints weren't working. It was supposed to be easy, why is nothing ever easy, Lassie?"

Lassiter blinked, "You went into my apartment, broke into my safe to...make me like you?"

Shawn buried his face in his hands, shivering despite the warm climate. "No, no, no! I wanted you to get the closure, like Gus would say, on it. You never would have known it was me, but if I could have made your life the slightest bit easier you might've come to tolerate me and not hate me. Like the others." He sniffed. "B-but it wasn't right, the guy was too clever. He got me, he, well, he nearly killed me. I solved it, sorta, but I also nearly died and killed someone. It wasn't my fault!" Shawn added as Lassiter seemed about to interrupt. "I was too late, and she died."

"Who?"

"The kid that got out on bail, the daughter, the so-called murderer. I should have known, one little symbol was off and I should have caught it, but I just charged ahead. I was supposed to process it, like I normally do. I was supposed to get the facts straight, if not only slightly off. But I didn't do it this time, Lassie, I didn't process it and I didn't notice it."

Lassiter stiffened, reaching out to grasp Shawn's shoulder before thinking better of it and pulling back. "What happened, Shawn? What symbol?"

"There was this label, a label covered in grime and dirt, on the work bench in the shed. It wouldn't mean anything to anyone, but the thing was that it was put in there _after_ the cops were done and thought they had the murderer." Shawn sniffed loudly, looking up at the faint stars twinkling above as his hand absently traced the bulge of the gun. "Nobody was let into that shed unless they had a key or a appointment with the Realtor trying to sell the house. And who'd want to go in there anyway? Somebody figured me out, Lassie, they figured me out real good. They knew I'd find it, and they knew I'd rush to the factory."

"Factory?" Lassiter prompted, leaning forward to look at Shawn, who'd dropped his head.

"Yeah, keyboard factory. Real special stuff, gotta order it online. Which is ironic, keyboards being ordered online. But the fact is that Gus just got one, won't let me touch it because I broke the other one, for his laptop. So I recalled the label, because I have photographic memory. That's how I do it, Lassie. You said you wanted to know, there it is. I'm a fraud and I do everything with photographic memory, and being extremely observant. You can blame my father. But someone figured that out, they figured it out and put that there knowing I would run to the spot. He was waiting for me, the murderer. And he had the kid, Jan. Never figured out why he killed the guy, never found out why he wanted me to come. But he told me to stay back, and I didn't. I had your gun, the third hidden one under the stairs, so I thought I would be fine. And I could shoot, I knew everything from watching and because Juliet took me to the shooting range one day. That was fun."

"What happened, Shawn?" Lassiter whispered, noting how the younger man had begun to fidget and seem to try and avoid telling what happened next.

Shawn blinked hard, shaking his head. "I didn't stay back, he pulled the trigger. She died. He escaped. He's probably half way to Tahiti by now."

"You witnessed a murder?" Lassiter shot up, beginning to pace the area in front of the steps. "You need to go the station, talk to Chief and-"

"Lassiter," Shawn stood up as well, the use of his full last name making Lassiter freeze in his steps. "I already did. They know everything, minus the fact I'm not a psychic. And that I had a gun." Shawn took a deep breath, removing the gun from his waistband and setting it on the ground before holding out his hands. "I thought you might want the pleasure of that. So, you have your victory and confession, arrest me."

This was what Carlton Lassiter wanted, wasn't it? So why did it feel so wrong? Why, in God's name, did he hesitate? Why did he feel his stomach turn at the thought of bringing Shawn in when this was what he'd been waiting for? Lassiter shivered, shaking his head slowly. "No." The word had slipped before he could stop it, and so did every single one after that.

"N-no?" Shawn stuttered, lowering his hands slightly and staring in confusion before nodding to himself. "Oh, yeah, you probably don't have your cuffs. Well, I kinda stole your spare so," Shawn pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his back pocket and, with some difficulty, managed to cuff himself. "There you go, take me in."

Lassiter groan, stepping forward with the keys. "No, Spencer. I'm not arresting you." He undid the cuffs, stuffing them into his pocket and crossing his arms.

"What? Why? I-I thought that-"

"You thought wrong." Lassiter snarled, "Besides, I'm not on duty." He looked at Shawn meaningfully, inclining his head ever so slightly and praying the message got across clear.

And, apparently, it did.

"Oh," Shawn nodded to himself, quietly rubbing his wrists and staring at his feet in thought. "I-I see."

Lassiter nodded, even though Shawn wasn't looking at him, and lowered his arms. "Good." He made a movement to go into the building, yet turned about and gazed at Shawn who still stared at the ground. "And by the way?" Shawn looked to him. "I don't hate you."

"Y-you don't? But you always-"

"That's because of what you did." He paused at the confused look Shawn sent him. "When you came in, immediately I knew it wouldn't bode well for me. I thought you were a charlatan who would mess the case up, and in ways I was right. But you also ended up solving forty-some-odd cases that wouldn't have been without your help. You were never wrong, and that was...well, it was me before you came along. You were everything I was, only better. And, loathe as I am to say it, I was jealous. Probably still am, but the fact is that you're a great detective. With or without psychic abilities. You believe people when no one else will, you go with your gut feeling, which is something I can't do because I'm a cop."

Before Lassiter knew or understood what was happening, Shawn was in front of, on him, against him. He was pressing their lips together in a sweet, chaste kiss that Lassiter didn't quite understand. "Thank you, Lassiter." Shawn breathed as he pulled away and took several steps back, almost as though he were afraid Lassiter would pull out his gun and shoot him.

Lassiter stood for a moment, nearly reaching up to touch his lips in awe, before snapping out of it and nodding shortly. He turned to enter the building, only to pause again as he felt Shawn's eyes bore into his back. "Do you need a ride home?"

Shawn blinked, looking confused for a moment. "Oh, uh, no. I locked the keys inside."

"How did you get here without your bike, then?"

"I walked."

"Right," Lassiter nodded, glancing at the building before turning back to Shawn. "I have a futon that pulls out."

Shawn smiled slightly, walking in after Lassiter.

The next morning, Lassiter awoke to silence. He quietly slipped out of bed and pulled on a robe, wondering if perhaps Shawn was still asleep. As he stepped into the living room, he found that wasn't the case. The futon was put back, and the Cheetos they had shared in a bowl during Ghostbusters had disappeared. He changed directions, entering the kitchen in a strange hope of finding the younger man. Nothing.

Sighing, he shook his head._ Typical Spencer. _Something caught the corner of his eyes, a note was attached to the microwave.

_Heat 2 mins. Sprinkle on sugar._

_S.S._

Opening the microwave, Carlton Lassiter couldn't help the slowly creeping smile. Pineapple upside down cake.

He'd made the right choice.

_A/N: Just a short something I thought of recently, lately I've been missing a lot of the awesome show known as Psych. About an entire season. Yes, I know, bad Lushy. But I am getting back into it, probably will ask for the DVD's come my birthday this October, and have begun filling in the pieces with Wikipedia, Youtube and fanfics. I never realized there was such a large fandom of both Shules and Shassie. I love you all, really. I adore both sets of pairings. Now I gotta figure out who the hell 'Abigail' is. Shawn?_

_Shawn: Eh, don't ask me. I'm just part of your subconcious, I know only what you do._

_Don't be a spoil-sport!_

_Shawn: Me? Never! That's Lassie's job._

_Oh, yeah..._

_I remain your obedient Authoress,_

_Lushy_


	2. Of Grumpy Barriers and Cranes

_A/N: Second chapter, yowza. I really didn't expect to do this, those plot bunnies are quite evil. And I needed to test my new beta. Fun. I hope you guys like it, I certainly do. Big thanks to Jillybean (Meatball42) for sticking through the first draft which, now that I think about it, was quite confusing. Without further ado, or breaks for Orangey-Pineapple flavored popsicles(did you know they had those? Yeah, I just found some in the freezer. They really taste good.), I give you the second part of Pineapple Cakes and their Fake Psychic's._

* * *

_Disclaimer: If I owned the awesomeness of Psych, I wouldn't be standing(sitting?) here, now would I? No, I'd be shooting the awesomeness of the next Psych episode, in which I would make Shawn have a 'vision' and kiss Lassie. (Well now that Goream has me thinking about it...)_

Shawn sighed contentedly the next day, smiling as Lassie took out the cake from the microwave. He leaned against the protection bar the crane had, sending a glance at the kid fumbling about the controls. He chuckled, Gus probably would have freaked if he knew that Shawn had coerced the seventeen year old into taking Shawn along as he wiped windows. As he told the young man to take him down, he recalled last night. It was odd, when Shawn admitted to it...he expected many things.

Anger, perhaps. Sadness, joy, anything. Sure, for one single moment he had thought maybe, just maybe, Lassie wouldn't do anything. That thought had been quickly dismissed, a single remembrance of one of the many times the detective growled in anger and firmly announced his belief that Shawn was _not _psychic doing the trick. He had been out of his mind as he half-ran and half-walked to Lassie's apartment building after talking to Chief Vick about what he saw. Things were fuzzy, real fuzzy. He'd prided himself on always being able to recall the slightest detail, and yet suddenly he couldn't remember what happened. Facial expressions, lights, colors, they all blended into one and made him think his mind's eye needed glasses. And in the end he'd finally done it. Shawn Spencer buried himself in the ashes of the consequences of what he'd become, and admitted to everything.

Guilt had been overwhelming, hate echoed upon his ear and no longer could he take it. He remembered the night he broke into Lassie's house quite clearly, being it about a week before confronting the true murderer. He was supposed to meet his dad for dinner that night, and after several beers he finally discovered there was no way he could go see Henry on such an incredibly terrible day. Lassiter had snapped angrily at him earlier when Shawn had interrupted him during an important meeting with Vick and suddenly the head detective had used him as a scapegoat. At first it didn't bother him, but as Lassiter stayed angry at him for the rest of the day, he realized that perhaps he'd taken it a bit too far. Drowning his sorrows in the alcohol, he thought up ways to make it up to Lassie. He then could hear the music in the bar, he never found out who put it on, but he could recall that somehow it helped him farther than he ever thought. _All alone, together, we fight the fear we feel. Everyone has the power, to make us hurt or heal. Tell me where's the hope if we choose to go on carelessly? _

Shawn had frozen and quickly looked up the entire song on his iPhone. The lyrics clicked in his mind. Perhaps he'd been going about it too carelessly? Maybe, just maybe, he could bring the head detective around in a way Lassie could identify. There was no hope for him if he continued down the reckless path, but it was the one he'd been fit into from birth. But on the sly, he could do everything for Lassie. Yeah. That might work… but how could he start? _Lassie, Lassie, Lassie...._ Shuddering as the alcohol burned down his throat, he thought fiercely. Lassiter already had the Despereoux case solved, thanks to him, so that was out of the question. Actually, he had a lot of cases solved due to Shawn. This wasn't going to work. He needed something a bit more solid; he needed to find out more about Lassie. Slapping a few twenties onto the bar, he made a sort of sauntering stumbling movement out of the alcoholic establishment and glanced at his bike. Despite the pleasant buzz ringing in his ears, he knew that there was a sixty-five percent chance of a crash if he dared get onto the vehicle in his present state. Great, now he had to walk.

Picking the detective's lock was surprisingly easy; for one so firm in the law you'd think he'd have better security. Ah, well. Shawn pushed open the door, glancing around the apartment with admiration. Slipping his jacket back up his arm, Shawn began his search. Now, if he were a head detective obsessed with work, where would he put precious cases? Okay, that one was rather easy. Figuring out the lock combination? Eh, slightly harder. Lassie was a firm believer in not using his own birthday as a password or lock combination, what Shawn didn't expect (mostly he found it was this when he was just messing around, he would never have penned Lassie for the Douglas Adams type) was it was forty-two repeated several times.

And left-left, right-right, left-left was just plain lazy.

The only thing in there was a single, five year old case. Shawn memorized it, backwards even, and could probably repeat it cover to cover. The kid was thirteen when placed in jail, sobbing out her heart that she didn't do it. Lassiter, Shawn could tell from his notes, firmly believed something was severely off.

He was right.

About a whole lot of things.

Mostly about Shawn.

Shawn blinked out of his memories, walking down the sidewalk in front of Lassie's building. And of course there was last could he have done that? Kissing Lassie, he meant. In all reality, it just came out of nowhere, in one instant Shawn couldn't control his limbs and he was pressing their lips together. It was odd, and slightly creepy, how good Shawn felt while and after doing it. And the look Lassie gave him, slightly of shock and slightly of pleasure, Shawn couldn't decipher it, just the same as he couldn't decipher Lassie's offer to sleep in his apartment. And the agreeing to watch a Ghostbusters and Back to the Future marathon was just plain weird. Nice, but weird.

Later that day, Shawn was still contemplating the situation as he entered the Santa Barbara Police Department. His eyes firmly attached to the ground, he kept walking until something firm hindered his path. Okay, the hindering was mostly his fault because he ran straight into it, but that's neither here nor there.

"Sorry," he mumbled under his breath, lifting his eyes briefly to see the exact same slightly distracted man he was just thinking about. "Lassie!" He gave out a short squeak, tensing up as he watched Lassiter's eyes dart to him then back to the case he held.

"Spencer," he replied gruffly, moving around him and continuing on his way. Shawn sighed; despite the fact that Lassiter said he didn't hate him, he couldn't help but feel disappointed by the half-hearted greeting. Shawn rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around. "Oh, and, uh," Shawn turned, blinking in confusion as Lassiter stuttered to find the words he was trying so desperately to say. "Th-thanks for the cake." Lassie turned away quickly, shuffling down the hall.

Shawn grinned to himself, nodding in approval as he turned in the opposite direction, only to be met with a thoroughly confused Juliet O'Hara. "Shawn, is Carlton being… nice? All day he's been acting weird, and that was just plain crazy. He's _never _nice to you."

Shawn shrugged, "Maybe my amazing charm and wit have finally broken through his grumpy barriers. Anyways, gotta go. Bye, Jules!"

Juliet blinked. And blinked again. This was going to be a very weird day.


End file.
